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Literature Text
for a long time, we were middles.
winter leaves
with piteous cries
and the leaves rustle
with the hope of leaving.
september passed
in a haze of
absolut lust
and i grew used
to the southern comfort.
vancouver beckons
with his Burton tees
and i stole his smile;
the way he stole my heart.
you wrote cliches
that weren't cliches once
two times
upon a train
and i took my greyhound
with a video camera
imagining that this
was what you saw.
life happens
and truth creeps in
and we lived the middles
we couldn't write
ran out of words
a long time back
and i can't be her anymore.
stuck. stolen. saved.
and you say
it feels like a conclusion...
for a long time, we were middles.
winter leaves
with piteous cries
and the leaves rustle
with the hope of leaving.
september passed
in a haze of
absolut lust
and i grew used
to the southern comfort.
vancouver beckons
with his Burton tees
and i stole his smile;
the way he stole my heart.
you wrote cliches
that weren't cliches once
two times
upon a train
and i took my greyhound
with a video camera
imagining that this
was what you saw.
life happens
and truth creeps in
and we lived the middles
we couldn't write
ran out of words
a long time back
and i can't be her anymore.
stuck. stolen. saved.
and you say
it feels like a conclusion...
for a long time, we were middles.
Literature
Lies
Do you lie in your sleep?
When you exhale, do the lies just tumble out?
Does a lie always inhabit the tip of your tongue?
Ready to run free at a moment’s notice?
Because it seems all I hear from you lately
Are lies
Lie after lie
Do you even know you’re telling them?
Or do you mean what you say in the moment and later contemplate on your words and decide otherwise?
Do you care that you hurt me?
With every word cutting deeper into the tough skin I thought I had formed
But then you come with your charm and your knife
And you cut
And cut
I don’t even notice the bleeding, lost in your eyes
Until you’re gone
Then I notice
Literature
A Lover of Sorts
A wandering ace roamed far and wide
Hoping to catch some education in stride,
But Western Wedding University, dead set,
Asked her, “Have you found a lover yet?”
She said, “I am looking for one, of course,
But they must only be a lover of sorts.”
“Of sorts?” McVay curiously replied.
The ace only smiled, heart filling with pride,
For he knew not everyone could understand
That all he ever wanted was to hold someone’s hand
And cuddle at sunset on a cold winter’s night
While drinking hot cocoa by the campfire light.
A kiss or two but nothing more,
Anything else he would abhor.
A lover of sorts woul
Literature
Rhapsodic
I’ve lost my superpower –
of wordplay
It’s abandoned me and left me choking on vacant letters,
Stealing my brand of “wordsmith”
And
Labeling me simply as a lack-luster charlatan.
I’m vomiting synonyms
And
I’m tripping on definitions
In ways that I never have stumbled before.
This chasm –
This deep, empty, aching grave in my soul
Is screaming and pleading and gasping and trembling
To reconstitute this dried up talent
In the light of my ever-present denial of tragedy.
Once a zealot,
Always an addict;
You see, I yearn
to do nothing more than to load a syringe with ripe syllables,
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© 2013 - 2024 rebel-brat
Comments1
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life happens
and truth creeps in
and we lived the middles
we couldn't write
It should be mentioned that this is the last thing I've read today. Every other reply or post came before this.
We're still middles. Let's be honest, we still can't write poetry with direction
it's still just catchy introduction, lots of shit to fill it out and then a shattering conclusion. But you know what? All this shit, right now, in the middle is what makes the conclusion so awesome. We're still middles. This is still the middle. Let's make this middle the best second verse we ever wrote. I'm excited 
and truth creeps in
and we lived the middles
we couldn't write
It should be mentioned that this is the last thing I've read today. Every other reply or post came before this.
We're still middles. Let's be honest, we still can't write poetry with direction
it's still just catchy introduction, lots of shit to fill it out and then a shattering conclusion. But you know what? All this shit, right now, in the middle is what makes the conclusion so awesome. We're still middles. This is still the middle. Let's make this middle the best second verse we ever wrote. I'm excited